Playing with Terrorcons
by ultharkitty
Summary: G1 Decepticam AU. Three fics about Sixshot and Blot, And Vortex/Swindle. Sticky in parts 2 and 3.
1. Chapter 1

Blot has brought Sixshot a present. Sixshot is underwhelmed.

Contains abduction of unnamed OC, off-screen violence.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>Sixshot looked down at the mess of tentacles and strange tubes spread out at his feet. "What's that?"<p>

"Tribute!" Blot bounced. "I got it on Taraxus Five, it was all 'Autobots, save me!' and I was all 'Hahahahahaha! No!' and I caught it for you. You like it?"

"Uh…" Sixshot didn't like it, and he certainly didn't want to have to touch it, especially not after Blot had carried it all the way back from Taraxus Five. But the Terrocon base was empty save for the two of them, and any sulking he caused he would have to deal with. He made a show of examining the organic. "It is… acceptable," he conceded. As space debris, he thought.

"Yessss!" Blot bounced some more, causing several of his joints to start oozing.

Oh scrap no, five astroseconds to olfactory meltdown. Sixshot closed off his vents, and wondered how quickly he could leave without hurting Blot's rather primitive feelings, or encouraging the disgusting little freak to follow him. Again.

"What you gonna do with it?" Blot prompted. He gave the organic a shake. It wasn't dead, Sixshot was pretty sure about that, but it was certainly clever enough to pretend. Probably wished it was though, with Blot's fluids dribbling all over it.

"I'll think of something," Sixshot said. But Blot's face fell, and Sixshot experienced one of those odd surges of emotion; sympathy, he thought, or pity, something like that. "I need to train," he said. "You can think about it for me."

Blot perked up again. "Sure thing!" he grinned. He gathered up the organic; with any luck he'd get distracted and forget about it. "You, uh… You sure you like it?" he said, his optics wide and his expression so full of hope.

Adept as he was at breaking things, Sixshot couldn't bring himself to smash that hope. "Yes," he lied. "Of course I do."


	2. Chapter 2

Vortex and Swindle are engaged in a bit of team bonding when Hun-Grrr interrupts with a strange request.

Contains explicit consensual sticky and plug-n-play smut, crack.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>Swindle was exactly where Vortex wanted him: sprawled between his legs, his mouth on Vortex's spike, his fingers deep in Vortex's valve. Cables ran between them, a self-perpetuating feedback loop that urged them ever closer to synchronised overload.<p>

It was, Vortex thought, one of the best things about being forced into a gestalt.

Swindle moaned and writhed, hitting the sweet spots at precisely the right angle. Vortex's rotors juddered, his fingers tingling where they gripped Swindle's helm.

"Just like that!" he groaned, but he needn't have spoken; the combiner programming saw to it that Swindle felt exactly what he felt, and he experienced an echo of Swindle's every reaction. It was _amazing_.

Vortex's communicator beeped.

Swindle gave a muffled moan, half question, and Vortex swore. This was team bonding time, every other fragger in the entire fraggin' universe could frag off. He didn't care if it was Galvatron himself, he was busy.

It beeped again and he muted it. Then cut the power to his optics so he didn't have to see the annoying little flashing light. Which meant that he also couldn't see Swindle's head bobbing up and down. Which was a shame.

"Mmff?" Swindle queried, and Vortex shot a surge of current along the connection. The responding thrill was wonderful, throwing him straight back into the interface. The charge picked up again, his circuits singing with it, his sensors seeming to glow. He bucked his hips, and Swindle thrust deeper with his fingers, catching nodes not previously reached.

Then another surge, from Swindle this time, and the pleasure peaked, every extraneous system shutting down under the onslaught of overload.

He tensed, riding it out as Swindle did the same, enjoying each fresh wash of energy and heat. Until eventually it subsided and those minor systems came back online.

Swindle hauled himself up over Vortex's chest. "Your comm's still flashing," he said, and settled with his arms folded over Vortex's pectoral vent, his chin resting on his hands.

"So?" Vortex replied.

"Could be important."

"Could be scrap." He shifted on his rotor hub, one arm around Swindle so that he didn't slide off. "You know what I think?"

Swindle snickered. "Not much?"

"Frag you. I think we should do this hooked up to Thrusters. He's all 'I will _not_ rut like an organic!' We should show him what his other hardware's for."

"Like he's gonna go for that," Swindle said. He glared at Vortex's commlink. "Just answer it."

"No. We could get him slagfaced…" Vortex suggested, but Swindle took matters into his own hands and hit the comm's manual override. A hologram popped up; maroon helm, red visor, full mouth. "Hun-Grrr?" Vortex sighed. "What do you want?"

"That took you forever," Hun-Grrr said. He swallowed, but didn't wait until he'd finished talking to take another bite of whatever it was in his hand. "I've got a proposition for you."

"Not interested," Vortex replied, and went to hit the off button, but Swindle grabbed his wrist.

"What's in it for us?"

"Oh, Swindle, didn't know you were there," Hun-Grrr grinned. "I hope I didn't disturb anything."

"Get it over with," Vortex snapped. Then squirmed as Swindle sent a small pulse of energy along the connection.

"There's no pleasant way to put this," Hun-Grrr said. "We want you to frag Blot."

"Slag no," Vortex replied, as Swindle started to laugh.

"C'mon," Hun-Grrr urged. "He needs some action. With a regular mech, not one of us. And we thought to ourselves, who puts it about a bit and seems to have… y'know, negotiable standards?"

"This isn't helping your cause," Vortex snarled. "And you can stop laughing," he told Swindle. "You're 'negotiable standards'."

"No I'm not," Swindle said with complete confidence. He sent another bolt of energy along the connection, making Vortex's interface array tingle, then relaxed again over his chest. "You haven't told us what you're offering."

"High grade?" Hun-Grrr said.

Vortex sighed. "I can get my own high grade. I can get anything I want." He squeezed Swindle's aft. "Or a certain someone's never getting laid again."

"Slagger." Swindle prodded him in the vent, but his engine was purring and his amusement rippled along the interface.

"All right," Hun-Grrr said. "Name your price."

"I've got a price now?" Vortex said.

Swindle stretched out. "We've all got a price," he commented. "Stop being awkward."

"I'm not fragging Blot." The very idea was, well, something he didn't want to think about with Swindle laying over his spike.

"We'll clean him up for you," Hun-Grrr said. "Get all his fluids renewed, patch up his leaks. He'll be factory fresh. We'll even disable his vocal processors if that'll help."

"Attractive," Vortex muttered.

"I'm doing the best I can here," Hun-Grrr complained. "Blot's… going through something. He keeps following Sixshot around – I mean, more than usual – and it's really bugging him."

"Sixshot?" Vortex said, and Swindle gave him a curious glance.

"Yeah." Hun-Grr shrugged. "We thought if we could get someone else to give Blot a good seeing to, he might calm down. It was sort of Sixshot's idea to try someone outside the team."

"How grateful would Sixshot be exactly?" Vortex asked. He ignored Swindle's snickering; if he could have Sixshot as consolation, he reckoned he might just be able to put up with Blot.

"Um," Hun-Grrr said. "_Very_ grateful?"

The Terrorcon caught on quickly, but Vortex didn't want to leave anything to chance. "I get Sixshot for a full recharge cycle, with a crate of high grade and the option for Onslaught to join in, and I'll deal with Blot's little problem for you." He smiled, enjoying the look on Hun-Grrr's face as much as the approval emanating from Swindle.

"A full recharge cycle with Blot too," Hun-Grrr prompted. "And he'd better enjoy it."

"Sure," Vortex said. After all, Sixshot had stamina. Blot, however, might well be a one overload and straight to recharge kind of mech. Hopefully.

"All right," Hun-Grrr said, relief clear in his tone. "I'll comm you when I've talked it through with Sixshot." The hologram vanished, and Swindle wriggled further up Vortex's chest to stare him straight in the optics.

"Well negotiated," he said. "Can I watch?"

"Why not." Vortex grinned. "I'm sure Blot won't mind an audience."

"I meant with Sixshot." Swindle reached down and ran his fingers the length of Vortex's spike. "I can just picture you sandwiched between him and Ons. Frag, that'd be worth seeing."

"Yeah?" Vortex said, sliding his hand around to stroke the cover of Swindle's valve. "What's in it for me?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Plight of the Official Observer  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1, Season 3, Decepticam AU  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Contains:<strong> non-explicit sticky smut, licking, voyeurism (kind of).  
><strong>Beta<strong>: **ayngelcat** 3  
><strong>Characters andor pairings:** Vortex/Blot, with a side order of Vortex/Swindle, and Sixshot/Onslaught/Vortex for dessert.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> part 3 of Playing with Terrorcons. Sixshot is fed up with Blot following him around, so Hun-Grrr makes a deal with Vortex (and Swindle by extension) for Vortex to interface with Blot in the hope it'll settle him down. Swindle gets to watch, whether he likes it or not.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> For the **tf_rare_pairing** 'Through another's eyes' January Challenge.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

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><p>Swindle wanted to see Sixshot spike Vortex. Even better, he wanted to ifeeli it, hooked up to the rotary as soon as possible afterwards, their databanks synchronised and the memory shared.

It would be the culmination of the most entertaining transaction he'd entered into since the move to Charr.

Swindle did not, however, want to watch Vortex spiking Blot. Or being spiked by Blot, or flirting with Blot, or touching Blot, or even being in the same room as Blot.

Stinky, Sixshot-obsessive, leaky, disgusting, cognitively deficient Blot.

And yet here Swindle was, the official observer, living his own personal slice of the Pit so that Vortex could get to be fragged by Sixshot. The reward had better be worth it.

"You clean up nice," Vortex lied, and Swindle had a job to stop himself from laughing. Blot cleaned up acceptably, if you lacked olfactory sensors, and your optics were malfunctioning. The Terrorcon sat nervously on the edge of the bunk, a subtle yet horribly persistent odour wafting from his joints, while Vortex did his best impression of someone who was trying to get laid.

Sure, Hun-Grrr had arranged for a thorough clean-up, inside and out. But Swindle was beginning to suspect that Blot had weirder internal geography than mere scrubbing brushes and pressure hoses could cope with.

"No need to be scared," Vortex purred. "Cutthroat's in the next room, and Swindle here ain't gonna let me do anything to you that you don't want." To Swindle's dismay, Vortex followed up the sugary lie by flicking his glossa lightly over Blot's audial.

Blot squirmed. "Tickles!" he snapped, but Vortex had frozen, the oddest expression on his face.

The rotary licked him again. Then a third time, but with zero emphasis on teasing. In fact, it gave Swindle the very solid impression that Vortex was tasting the Terrorcon. "Well frag me."

"What?" Blot bounced away, landing on the end of the bunk. "iNow?/i I thought that's what we iwere/i doin'. Gettin' ready to do. I need a long run up! Hun-Grrr never let me read the manual!"

More's the pity, Swindle thought. If he had, Vortex could have fragged Blot into recharge already and snuck over to the corner for a little consolation with his team mate.

Vortex licked his lips. "How long a run up?" But he was smiling, and it looked genuine.

Blot squirmed. "I dunno, never done it with an outsider before."

"Not even Sixshot?" Vortex said. He crept closer, on all fours across the bunk. His rotors bounced.

"Sixshot's not an outsider," Blot snarled, then he gasped as Vortex grabbed his… his… Swindle had no idea what it was that Vortex grabbed, but it was blue and attached to the Terroron's shoulder, and after he'd grabbed it Vortex began to lick it with every sign of enjoyment.

"Tell me what it's like with your team," Vortex murmured, and Swindle had the urge to bash his head against the wall. Now was inot/i the time to turn this into an interrogation. Now was the time to flip the glitch over and screw him so hard he forgot his own name. And passed out. For the rest of the cycle.

"Urrr…" Blot wore a very familiar expression. It was composed of 50% confusion, 10% arousal, and 40% concern, and was the expression most people seemed to develop when Vortex took an interest in them.

"Let me put it another way," Vortex said quietly, and Swindle could have done without seeing him push Blot gently back onto the bunk. As for what he did with his hand, Swindle's plating began to itch. "How do they get you all revved up?"

"How do they what?" Blot squeaked, his optics widening in what Swindle could only interpret as awed terror. He squirmed, and Swindle winced. Sure, Vortex knew what he was doing, but a few licks and a quick grope shouldn't be enough to trigger auto-release on anyone's covers.

Swindle dimmed his optics. Maybe if he gave the scene soft focus, and only really looked at Vortex, it wouldn't burn itself so irrevocably into his short term memory that it'd be the only thing his mind's eye was capable of seeing for the next forty vorns.

Then Vortex began licking again, and Swindle knew he just wasn't that lucky.

center* * */center

It went on forever. Or so it seemed to Swindle.

As he (reluctantly) watched the rotary slowly and - for him - gently pound Blot into the bunk, he calculated the cost of a full service, plus oil bath and thorough wax and polish. Vortex would have to pay for it, obviously, but there was no way he could refuse. Not after being that close to Blot, and for so long.

As he watched, Swindle couldn't help but make his own observations. He didn't know what kind of interfacing Blot was used to, but this wasn't it. Everything seemed to surprise him, a few things unnerved him, and absolutely nothing whatsoever seemed to wear him out. It was like he was hooked up to the mains. He bounced his way through several overloads - and Swindle didn't even want to think about whether or not Vortex was faking it - without any loss of enthusiasm or energy.

Swindle, by contrast, was flagging fast. He slumped in his seat, and leant his head against the wall. His optics dimmed further, although not on purpose, and his sensor net started to shut down. Frag, he needed to recharge.

"Swin!"

Swindle awoke to a pungent stench, and someone shaking him by the shoulder.

"Swin, time's up! I did it!"

"Di' whu'?" Swindle said, as his databanks struggled to boot. "Wassgoin'on?"

"Blot!" Vortex declared. "He's out. Finally."

"You stink." Swindle shut his vents and leaned back. "iSigma…/i"

Vortex shook him again. "C'mon, Swin, wake up, there's somethin' you gotta do. Before he comes online again."

Swindle pushed Vortex away. "You'll get his ick on me. And I ain't goin' anywhere near him."

"But you gotta!" Vortex's optics blazed, and suddenly all Swindle could see was the rotary's face. "I think they painted him with something, he tastes like high grade and rust sticks and oil cake, and you gotta try him!"

"No I don't," Swindle said. Glancing past Vortex, he saw Blot sprawled on the bunk, a satisfied smile on his face, and unmentionable goo leaking from his joints.

"You gotta do it now," Vortex said. "It's wearing off. C'mon!"

Why Vortex was so keen to share this new experience, Swindle didn't think he'd ever know. What he did know, was that there was nothing in the known universe that could entice him to lick Blot. Well, very few things. Nothing Vortex possessed, anyway.

"No," Swindle said flatly. "Would you look at that, time really is up, and our sentence is over." He heaved himself out of the chair and lurched for the door. He got two steps before Vortex spun him around, shoved him against the wall, and gave him a second-hand taste of Blot's amazing temporary polish via the medium of a deep and rather forceful kiss.

"Mmmph!" Swindle smacked him on the helm, but it made no difference. And actually, there was a taste. Faint, and mingled with the usual taste of Vortex, but it was certainly there. And it wasn't at all unpleasant. The stench, however, was nasty, and persistent. And it was getting worse. Swindle gave it a few more astroseconds before the slow seep of the smell into his closed vents made him push Vortex away. "Washracks," he said. Vortex didn't complain.

center* * */center

The role of official observer, Swindle thought, was a harsh one.

Rules of no contact were all well and good when faced with Blot, but Onslaught and Sixshot were in an entirely different league. Swindle lounged in his official observer's chair, a cube of high grade balanced on his knee, and listened to the squeal and grind of metal over the hum of his fans.

Every time he recalibrated his optics he saw Blot's weirdly shaped aft bobbing up and down, and the rest of the time his visual field filled with things that made parts of him ache so hard it hurt. Onslaught looked small beside Sixshot, and even smaller beneath him, and Vortex caught between them looked like the smallest and happiest rotary ever to emerge from the Kaon factories. And hot scrap, but they looked good together. Really good.

He was lucky they let him in. 'Official observer' was a flimsy pretence, but Sixshot seemed to think it was fair, and Onslaught agreed on the condition he could mark it up as a team bonding exercise. Vortex was understandably keen on the idea, and it wasn't until it got to the point where Sixshot actually did spike Vortex that Swindle began to have any regrets.

He sipped his high grade, drawing the fumes deep into his vents to get rid of the phantom odour of Blot. Sixshot changed the angle of his thrusts; Vortex yelped and Swindle grinned. Official observer was indeed a difficult role, but he'd tough it out. 


End file.
